The Disciple of Las Vegas (14 page)

“He won't be at it. I'll handle the meeting myself.”

“This is ridiculous,” Francis said.

“No, I'll tell you what's ridiculous,” she said. “Two weeks ago, one of The River's clients — one of your clients, by proxy — went to them with the documentation I gave you. Two days later they blew up his car and told him to stay away from your people. Another client made a phone call to them. They broke into his apartment, trashed it, and left a threatening note. A third client — the one whose interests I represent — is lying in a Vancouver hospital close to death after jumping off the roof of his house out of sheer desperation.

“About ten hours ago I had a very polite one-minute chat with David Douglas. Six hours ago I was attacked by two men who threw me to the ground and kicked me hard in the ribs. Thirty minutes after that I was handed a note from David Douglas saying that they were his men and there was more of the same in store for me if I kept asking questions. Now, all of that is
really
ridiculous.”

The line went quiet.

“Ava, is all this really true?” Martin asked finally.

“No, Martin, I'm making it up,” she said, more harshly than she intended.

“Who else have you told about this?” Francis asked.

“No one. If I told my people in Hong Kong, all hell would break loose. I'm trying to keep the situation contained because I honestly believe that if I can get face to face with Douglas and Ashton I can resolve this matter in a discreet way.”

“You've tried that. What would make it different this time?” Francis said.

“They'll listen to me.”

“What if those two men are there?” Martin interrupted.

“I'm going to bring two of my own as a precaution.”

“Jesus Christ, I think this is getting out of control,” Francis said. “You're talking about some potential for violence here.”

Ava shifted on the bed, trying to relieve the pain in her ribs. “You know, Chief, when I read about you in the early days, it seemed that things didn't always go smoothly or peacefully. One newspaper even wrote that the Thousand Islands should be renamed the Wild East. And I read a quote from you that said the occasional run-in with the law was regrettable but the Mohneida were more concerned about the greater good. So please don't talk to me about potential for violence. I'm sitting here on a bed with taped ribs and an icepack on my hip, and the only reason I'm not in the hospital is because a kick that was aimed at my head didn't hit square on. And just to be clear, my objective here isn't revenge. All I want is to get back the money that was stolen from my clients. That is my greater good, Chief Francis.”

She could hear Martin speaking in the background but couldn't make out his words.

“Ms. Lee, just who the hell are you?” Chief Francis said.

“I'm an accountant.”

“And where would you get two thugs? Accounting school?”

“The firm I work for in Hong Kong has a diverse portfolio.”

“Ava,” Martin interjected, “if I can arrange a meeting with Douglas and Ashton, how do you expect me to bring you and the two other whatever-you-might-call-them?”

“Martin, I promise you, if you can get a meeting booked I'll find a way to get me and my associates into that house without causing any fuss.”

“And assuming you get in, then what?” Francis asked. “Civil war?”

“No, sir. I will persuade them that it is in their best interest to return the money and to keep the Mohneida's and my client's names out of any scandal.”

“And if you don't?” Francis said.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The way I see it, the status quo isn't tenable. If I can't get to Douglas, my clients will lose all patience with him and The River and I'll probably be fired . . . And I won't be responsible for whatever happens after I leave.”

“You're threatening me again,” Francis said.

“No, sir, I'm not, and I'm sorry if it sounded like that. I'm just being completely practical.”

“Are you certain you can persuade Douglas and Ashton?” Martin interjected.

“That's my job. And I don't fail very often.”

“Chief, I think it's worth a try,” Martin said.

A heavy silence set in; Ava guessed they had put the phone on mute.
Let them talk
, she thought.
The more they talk, the better my chances
.

“When do you want Martin in Las Vegas?” Francis asked as the line came alive again.

“Tomorrow — I mean today. It's already past midnight.”

“We'll call Douglas now; I'm sure he's still up. There isn't any point in delaying, and besides, a late-night call might emphasize just how important I think it is that he schedule an immediate meeting with us.”

“I'd like both Ashton and Douglas at the meeting if possible.”

“I understand that.”

“You said
us
. Are you coming as well?” she asked.

“No, I'm an elder statesman now — my Wild East days are over. Martin can handle whatever you want done.”

She realized he hadn't liked her reference to his smuggling days. “Chief Francis, I'm sorry if I caused offence earlier,” she said. “I just wanted you to understand how passionate I feel about my clients.”

“Ms. Lee, I think you've said enough. I'm going to make that phone call. If we get a meeting, Martin will be in Las Vegas tomorrow . . . Just make sure he gets back to me in one piece.”

After she hung up, Ava hobbled to the bathroom. The towel she had been using as an icepack was saturated and dripping all over the place. She got a fresh towel, filled it with ice from the bucket, and checked her watch. It was a bit too soon for more Tylenol, but she took two anyway.

Ava turned on her computer and logged in to her email account. Uncle's travel agent had sent her Carlo and Andy's complete itinerary. She scrolled through the balance of the messages, prioritizing as she did. There wasn't much related to business; it was mainly personal missives.

Maria Gonzalez had written again and this time had attached a photo. Ava saw a beautiful young woman standing against a brick wall and staring directly into the camera, a tiny smile playing on her full lips. Her brown eyes looked happy, even teasing, and were framed by long, curly black hair. She was wearing shorts and a tank top that showed off her toned arms and full breasts.
Mimi showed me some pictures of you
, she wrote.
I thought I would send you one of me. When do you think you'll be returning to Toronto?

Ava knew she was going to call this girl when she got back.
I don't know when I'm coming back. Soon, I hope. I'll be in touch
, she wrote.

She sent the email and clicked back to her inbox, where she found a message from Marian. She hesitated before opening it, since complaints about their mother, her husband, or her kids were her sister's usual content. For once, though, Ava was pleasantly surprised. Marian had written to say that she had phoned their father in Hong Kong to discuss his spring trip to Canada.
It was a pre-emptive strike,
she wrote. Marian had convinced him to book a two-week cruise in the eastern Caribbean — there would be no Las Vegas trip for their mother. She was very pleased with herself, and Ava was pleased for her.

Both Mimi and Derek had written several times, which wasn't unusual. She was about to delve into their messages when her cellphone rang.

“We're on,” Martin said. “One o'clock at Douglas's house. He said Ashton should be there as well.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank Chief Francis. He was the one who made the call. Douglas gave him a rough time about meeting at the house. He wanted to meet at the office, but the Chief said that with all the rumours flying around, he didn't want to be seen on their premises.”

“I'm very grateful. Please tell him that.”

“I will . . . Now, I can get into Vegas today around five o'clock. Does that work?”

“Which airline?”

“Air Canada from Vancouver.”

“I'll meet you at the airport.”

“Okay.”

“You need to rent a car.”

“Okay.”

“A big car, a fancy car. Try to get something like a Mercedes S-Class.”

“I'll do the best I can. How about a hotel?”

“I'm staying at Hooters, but you don't have to.”

“Hooters?”

“It's a long story.”

“What the hell, book me a room there as well.”

Ava slept surprisingly well, waking only once to replenish the makeshift icepack and to take more Tylenol. When she finally eased herself out of bed in the morning, she found that her hip wasn't nearly as sore, though her ribs still throbbed.

She made herself a cup of Starbucks VIA instant coffee and turned on her computer. There were no new emails of any interest. The messages from Derek and Mimi were still unopened and she decided to leave them that way. The last thing she needed was distraction, and Mimi specialized in that.

She left the computer and turned on her cellphone to check her messages. There was one. She heard a slow intake of air. “Call me,” Ordonez snarled. “I'm not happy.” Ava deleted the message.

She went to the nightstand where she had left the Yellow Pages and found the detective agency she had hired the night before. She called the number again and got the same male voice. “Don't you ever sleep?” she asked.

“Twelve-hour shifts. I'm just ending this one.”

“I need the blueprints for this house,” she said, giving him Douglas's address.

“You aren't planning to rob the place, are you?” he said.

“No, I promise.”

“Give me half an hour. Same rate.”

“Email the information,” she said, giving him the address.

She looked at herself in the mirror before she stepped into the shower. The bruises on her neck and shoulders now looked insignificant compared to the deep blue and yellow mark on her left hip. Fortunately the icepack and Tylenol had numbed the pain. She peeled the tape off her ribs and found similar discolouration on her right side. She tried stretching, but her ribs screamed at her to stop.

When she got out of the shower, Ava went through her Louis Vuitton suitcase to find fresh clothes. She was down to one clean T-shirt and one set of underwear. She called the front desk and arranged for same-day laundry service.

Dressed in her usual black Giordano T-shirt and Adidas track pants, she sat down again at the computer. The detective had come through for her once more, sending a description of Douglas's house and a drawing that outlined the exterior. She had a rough idea of what to expect after having seen the complex, but he had filled in the detail. There were no walls or fences around the house and no apparent external security other than that provided by the complex. A three-car garage was attached to the right side of the house, with the front door set farther back at the end of a small walkway.
Perfect
, she thought.

There was an alarm system in the house, but there would be no reason for it to be on during the day. Even if it was, she expected that Douglas would open the door quite willingly for Martin Littlefeather. The only disquieting note in the document was the fact that Douglas owned three Rottweilers. Carlo and Andy, like most Hong Kongers, weren't comfortable with dogs.
Too bad for them
, she was thinking, when
her cellphone rang.

It was a Vegas number, and she hesitated before answering it. “Jennie Kwong.”

“It's Au. I'll be there in five minutes.”

Ava turned off her computer and went downstairs to the lobby. It was a gorgeous morning, with a clear sky, a hint of breeze, and the Sierra Nevadas glistening on the horizon. Au's taxi arrived just as she left the hotel.

“My wife says
nee hoi
,” he said.

“
Nee hoi
to her.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Doug's Nevada Gun Shop. It's at the far end of the Strip, towards the Golden Nugget.”

Doug's was in old Vegas, a section of the city that began almost as soon as they had passed Steve Wynn's second deluxe hotel, Encore, on the northern end of Las Vegas Boulevard. It didn't take long for her to notice the difference between the old and the new. The city went immediately from grandiose to grungy. One minute Ava was looking at Encore, shining like a brown jewel framed by lush, manicured gardens, and the next she was staring at a series of strip malls selling cheap T-shirts and liquor, the sidewalks cracked and covered with debris. It got worse the closer she got to Doug's. Many stores were boarded up and the streets were populated by the down and out. Two men were rooting through a garbage bin in front of the gun store. Au offered to take her in, but Ava politely declined.

Doug's was a supermarket of weaponry. Ava had been in American gun stores before and thought she had seen just about everything, but Doug's raised the bar. The store was shaped like a horseshoe, lined with guns in glass cases mounted on the walls. They seemed to have every type of gun she had ever heard of, and more brands than she had known existed. For anyone planning a coup, a quick trip to Doug's would be one-stop shopping.

She walked past rifles, shotguns, machine guns, and automatics until she came to the section signed
guns for the little lady
. She browsed the cases until she caught the clerk's eye.

“What would you recommend?” she asked.

“What's it for, ma'am?”

“Self-defence.”

“A .380 should be just about right. Powerful enough, light, easy to fire, and accurate within about fifteen yards. Take your pick,” he said, sweeping his hand across a case.

“So many choices.”

“It's a popular weapon.”

“Show me a range.”

He opened the glass case and took out three guns. “This is the Hi-Point 380. It's heavier than most, about twenty-nine ounces, but it's still easy to shoot and has a reputation for accuracy. It'll set you back about $150,” he began. “Then we have the Kel-Tac P-3AT. It's a lighter gun, just over eight ounces, and it's $300. The last gun is the Rolls-Royce of .380s, the Kahr P380. It's probably the most accurate. Shit, you can hardly miss from fifteen yards, and it only weighs ten ounces. Here, feel it,” he said, passing her the gun.

She picked them up one by one. The Kahr seemed to have the best balance. “How much?”

“That's the problem with this gun, ma'am. It comes in at over five hundred dollars.”

“What ammunition works best with it?”

“I've been told that the Winchester Ranger ninety-five-grain is good.”

“I'll take the gun and a box of ammunition,” she said.

He reached for a sales pad. “Now, you do know, ma'am, that you can't take the gun with you today?”

“And why not? I was told that a permit wasn't required here.”

“Not for a weapon you intend to carry in the open.”

“That's what I would do.”

“Sorry, ma'am, there's still a seventy-two-hour cooling period. You can come back in three days for the gun.”

“I may not be alive in three days,” Ava whispered.

“Sorry, ma'am?”

“You heard me. Look at this,” she said, pulling up her T-shirt to show him her battered body. “My boyfriend beat the crap out of me last night. He threw me on the floor and kicked me like I was a dog. Then he took off just before the cops came — a lot of good they'd do anyway. I know he's coming back and he's going to do more of the same. But this time it isn't going to be so easy.”

“Ma'am, there are rules —”

“What's more important, the rules or your conscience? Is this Nevada or Massachusetts?”

He stared at her. Ava looked back at him defiantly. “If I don't get it here I'll go somewhere else.”

“You got a car outside?” he said.

“Taxi.”

“You got cash?”

“Not enough.”

“There's an ATM about a block left of here. Get the cab to park there. I'll meet you in ten minutes.”

“How much cash?”

“Six hundred will do.”

She was about to argue that he had quoted her five hundred for the gun, then caught herself. “See you in ten,” she said.

She directed Au to the ATM. She had four hundred dollars on her and took out another five hundred. Then she stood on the street corner and waited. The clerk walked towards her with a brown paper bag in his hand. “Get in the back of the cab, away from the security cameras,” he said.

Ava handed him the cash and he stuck the bills into his pants pocket without counting them. She wasn't so trusting. She opened the bag and saw the Kahr .380 and a box of Winchester Ranger ammunition. “Thanks,” she said.

“I just don't want to see your photo on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow,” he said.

“If you do, it'll be because I shot him, not because he beat me to death.”

After the clerk left, Au kept looking at her. She knew he had a lot of questions. “I need to find a Chinese grocery store,” she said.

“What do you need to buy?”

“A meat cleaver.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm worried for you,” he said.

“And then I need to get some duct tape and smelling salts,” she added as Au drove out of the parking lot.

When the car stopped at a red light, he turned around. “I told my wife you were a different kind of lady, but I don't think she'd believe me if I told her about this.”